I really like the tune of THE RAKES OF MALLOW, but I don't particularly care for the lyrics. The database has one other song to the tune, PIPING TIM/Tom. I like that one much better, but if anybody has other lyrics, please post them.-Joe Offer-

Joe Lynch, on his album "The Best of Ireland" (Big Eye Music, 2008) sings lyrics that are different from the one in the DT.

RAKES OF MALLOW (excerpt, from sound samples) Joe Lynch

When we hear a colleen call, That's the time we give our all, Up again' the castle wall. We're the rakes of Mallow. Caution in us sometimes lacks, But we always face the facts, So we pay our income tax. We're the rakes of Mallow. ... Whiskey, porter, stout and gin ...get them in For the rakes of Mallow.

The song below is on the 'Contemplator' website using the 'Mallow' air, which, incidentally, Croker calls "Sandy lent the man his mull."

The Galway Piper (Piping Tim)

Every person in the nation Or of great or humble station Holds in highest estimation Piping Tim of Galway Loudly he can play or low He can move you fast or slow Touch your hearts or stir your toe Piping Tim of Galway.

When the wedding bells are ringing His the breath to lead the singing Then in jigs the folks go swinging What a splendid piper He will blow from eve to mourn Counting sleep a thing of scorn Old is he but not outworn Know you such a piper?

When he walks the highways pealing `Round his head the birds come wheeling Tim has carols worth the stealing Piping Tim of Galway Thrush and Linnet, finch and lark To each other twitter "Hark" Soon they sing from light to dark Pipings learnt in Galway.

[A similar version, called PARSON BROWN'S SHEEP, from the Bodleian collection, has already been posted in another thread.]

OLD PARSON BROWN. Air: The Rakes of Mallow.

Not long ago, in our town, A little place of great renown, There liv'd a man named Mr. Brown, And he was our parson.

Father he was very poor, Christmas it was very near, We'd neither mutton, beef nor beer, For our Christmas dinner.

(Spoken.) It was very hard times with poor folks. Father had lost his work, cos he was very old, and couldn't do much. I went to parson Brown's, and asked him for a bit of broken vittles, but he wouldn't give me none--set dog at me, and sent me back nearly broken-hearted. When I got home, who should be there but father with one of parson Brown's fat wether sheep. "There," said the old man, "that's the first man I ever robbed in my life! but as they won't let me work, I can't starve." Egad, I was nation pleased to see the old sheep. I run and kissed mother, father, and the old sheep, and all--and run up and down, singing--

Father stole the parson's sheep, And we shall have both pudding and meat, And a merry Christmas we will keep, But I ma'n't say nou't about it.

I sang up and down the street all day, Parson heard what I did say, And ask'd me, in a civil way, If I'd sing it o'er again, sir.

Says he, I'll give thee half-a-crown, A suit of clothes, and money down, If to church you will gang, And sing it to the people.

(Spoken.) Egad, then, I said, I will! He gave me a bran new suit of clothes, and half-a-crown. I run home, and told mother what parson had give me to go to church and sing-- Father's stole, &c.

My mother thought as I was mad, Says she, whatever ails the lad, You know they'll surely hang your dad, If you say aught about it.

Says I, then, mother, I'll tell thee What I will do, as sure can be, I'll tell the folks what I did see The parson doing to Molly.

(Spoken.) I said, I'm dang'd if I don't, mother! Well, she said, do lad, but don't you say a word about the old sheep, if you do, they'll hang thee, and your father, too. No, I said, I won't then. So off I went, dressed all in my bran new clothes. I'm sure I never looked so fine in all my life afore. I was as pleased as a cat with a pepper-box! I goes clink-o'-ma-clank, clink-o'-ma-clank, right up to parson, and he begun telling folks what I had come for. Now, he says, I hope you'll hearken attentively to what this lad be about to sing, for it's of a most notorious and outrageous crime as ever was committed, and ought to be severely punished, and every word that he says is as true as the gospel I am now preaching. Then he swelled himself up like a turkey-cock, blowed his nose, and told me to begin. Then I begun singing--

As I was in the field one day, I see our parson very gay, Romping Molly on the hay, And turn her npside down, sir.

And for fear it shouldn't be known, A suit of clothes, and half-a-crown, Was all gave me by Mr. Brown, For me to come and tell you.

(Spoken.) He, he he! I thought parson would have gone ramping mad! He stamped and swore it was the biggest lie that ever was told, but folks wouldn't believe him. They all run out of church, and cried shame of parson. He sent a big book at me, but it hit an old lady on the head! Down she went, and the parson plump on top of her!

I run off, singing--

I have done old parson Brown Of a suit of clothes, and half-a-crown, For telling all the folks around, What he'd done to Molly.

An expurgated copy of the song was given by T. Crofton Crocker in 'Popular Songs of Ireland', 1839, with the tune cited for it as "Sandy lent the man his mull." That tune direction is circular, since the first verse and chorus of the latter are in David Herd's MS, c 1776, (reprinted by Hecht, 'Songs from David Herd's Manuscripts', 1904) with the tune direction "The Rakes of Mallow."

I've learned to play the tune on the 5-string banjo (from Barry Kornfeld's old Scruggs-style banjo book) and I'd like to try singing it, but I'm curious to hear how a singer fits the words to the tune.

I learned this tune in grade school as a tribute to spring with the following words:

Rosie, Betsy, blue-eyed Molly, Molly April is the time for folly, folly Blackbirds' shouts ring roundabout and Jenny wren is building in the willow Throw off your cloaks of black and brown Put on your togs that you wear to town Run in the meadow up and down Looking for the nest in the willow Rosie, Betsy, blue-eyed Molly, Molly April is the time for folly, folly Blackbirds shout ring roundabout and Jenny wren is nesting in the willow

I was sitting at the breakfast table in the heart of Kansas City last week when I heard a loud, melodious singing I had never heard before. I sat motionless, and soon a wren hopped up to the bird bath and took a drink.

I believe this is only the second time in 36 years that a wren has come to our house.

As to the lyrics, I remember the wet, muddy fields where willows grow, and I would change the words to this:

Throw off your cloaks of brown and gray. Put on the clothes you wear to play. Run in the meadow up and down, looking for the nest in the willow.